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littp://www.arcliive.org/details/cityofdreamsguanOOmyer 




ONE OF GUANJUATO'S WIDE STREETS 



Photo by Cox 



f\ Qity of Dreamy 



((Juapajuato) 



BY 



MRS. PETER M. MYERS 



**^^^^ 



Press of Gillett & Company 
Milwaukee, Wis. 






UBSARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

DEC 21 1S03 

Copyri|/nt tntry 

ClAsS <^ XXc No, 

COPY ct. 



Copyright, 1908, 

Mh8. Peter M. Myers 

Bedford, Ohio 



H City of Dreams 




FTER a sleep of a hundred years, 
Guanajuato is waking up," an 
American resident of Mexico City 
said to me one day, and I tried 
to think what the old place would 
be like "waked up". Guanajuato^ — away up in 
the mountains^, sleeping on the hillsides, the most 
dreamily picturesque city on all the North Amer- 
ican continent — waking up ! It was like hearing 
ill tidings of a friend, for the waking up process 
does not help quaint old Mexican cities, at least 
not for the idler or artist, or even for the every 
day tourista. On a former visit there were 
threatening signs of commercialism, and knowing 
what American capital and hustle and bustle can 
do for one of these drowsy places, I hurried away 
to Guanajuato, as one friend might fly to another 
in distress. 

It is a full day's ride from Mexico City, and 
all the way we watched for some sign of the 
awakening, for we reasoned that if Guanajuato 
had waked up, some of the nearer places on the 
line of the railway must have shared in the 
catastrophe. At Tula, where the winds on a 
summer day are like so many breaths from 
heaven, the same women and children brought 
the same peppery things to eat, and the same 
little girls hurried to the car windows with brown 
jugs of pulque. Up through the beautiful valley 
of San Juan del Rio all was the same; the same 
people sold the same wares, and the same blind 
beggars held up the same dirty sombreros. At 
Queretaro, old, historic, quaint and beautiful — 
the place where Maximilian was put to death — 
the same women tended their garlanded jars of 

7 



food and coffee, and no awakening appeared. 
Indeed, all through the valley there were the 
same dear old sights, even to the primitive way 
of drawing water for irrigation — a bucket let 
down on the end of a log swung on a post — and 
the men who drew the water wore no more clothes 
than they ever did, their costume being a pair 
of white linen trousers rolled high above the 
knees, their rich copper-colored skins showing 
splendidly against the shining green of the trees 
above them. Much of the way was lined with 
exquisite gardens, out of which splashes of 
color and waves of delicious fragrance floated up 
to the travelers. P'inally we reached Silao, where 
one must change cars for the little railroad which 
twists its way up through the hills toward Guana- 
juato; but we decided that if we were to witness 
the spectacle of the old city waked up, it should 
be by light of day, and for one night more we 
would dream of it as we knew it first. We found 
quarters in an old candle-lighted Mexican hotel, 
and from one of its balconies watched the new 
moon slide down out of the sky and the stars 
come out. The fragrance of a night-blooming 
honey-suckle floated up from some old patio, and 
over all the great plain and the blue hills was a 
wondrous golden light and exquisite silence. 
Surely there was no awakening here. 

Early the next morning we started for Marfil, 
the sleepy little half -Moorish village which 
guards the entrance to the barranca where Guana- 
juato is hidden away. From Marfil into the city, 
some six miles further on and about a thousand 
feet higher up, the way is by tiny street cars, 
drawn by four mules. We feared electricity 
might have replaced these little tram-cars, and 
that we would go whizzing up the hill, and then 
we should know that the awakening had really 
come, for what city could sleep with those whir- 



ring, bing-banging creatures flying through its 
streets? But it was all delightfully as it used to 
be — with perhaps a little closer packing in the 
cars of people and luggage — and then we started 
up the winding climb, along the muddy stream, 
past old gray walls, galloping and curving from 
one narrow street into another, the drivers alter- 
nately blowing their tin horns and whipping the 
mules, whose hides had long since become cal- 
loused and indifferent to all lashings. 

Because it is so hidden away in the hills, few 
travelers into Mexico realize the proximity of 
Guanajuato, or that it is a city of sixty thousand 
people, and was once one of the most famous min- 
ing camps of the world. It is historic, too, and 
so old that its history can hardly be traced, 
though there are many stories and traditions in 
regard to its origin. Certainly its reason for be- 
ginning was in the rich ores stored away in the 
surrounding mountains. Comparatively few 
tourists find their way here, as it is twenty miles 
from the main line of railway, but the heart of 
the traveler must be dead indeed if it fails to be 
rejoiced by a few days in this charmingly queer 
Old place. It is built in a barranca — one of many 
in a labyrinth of mountains — and as the city grew 
it had of necessity to climb the steep hills, and 
economise in room even tO' inches, compelling 
narrowest streets and flat roofs. Of course there 
is much of Spain about it, and somewhat of Italy 
too, but it resembles a Syrian city more than 
any other, and world-wide travelers say that cer- 
tain parts of Guanajuato might be almost repro- 
ductions of Bethlehem, while others might be 
Jerusalem itself. The houses are of mud bricks, 
many of them not even plastered over, and the 
washing of many rains has given them a look of 
crumbling age which might carry them back to 
the time when the bright shining of a star 

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guided wise men to a Bethlehem manger. There 
is a distinct flavor of the Orient about it all, and 
if camels and turbaned riders should come into 
the picture it would not seem over-strange. As 
in the far East, the flat roofs serve far beyond 
shelter ; they are the yard, the veranda, the bal- 
cony, the mirador, the place of retreat and the 
meeting place of friends. Its winding little 
thoroughfares can hardly be called streets, ex- 
cept .in the business part ; they are mostly nar- 
row paths, and in a few places it is possible even 
to reach across and touch the opposite wall. 
These little streets meander aimlessly up the 
mountains, playing hide and seek with one an- 
other and giving at every turn the most exquisite 
bits for the brush of an artist. There is no such 
thing as walking on a level in Guanajuato. It 
is up or down, usually in a most decided manner, 
and crossing from one street to another is often 
by a stairway of cobble stones. The houses cling 
to the rocks, and overhang the ledges, and the 
zigzagging little by-ways lead from one delight 
to another. Cameras may not catch these pic- 
tures, and as yet no artist has been able to faith- 
fully reproduce them. The one who can do so 
will make himself forever dear to all lovers of art. 
One's pen may run riot with adjectives and en- 
thusiasm, and yet give no real pictures of Guana- 
juato, so illusive are they; but if the idler will 
climb to the top of some of these high hills, where 
he may look down on the flat roofs rambling up 
the mountain to him, and across to the other 
side, where one terrace of roofs rises on another, 
a high wall, an old arch, a quaint stairway, lead- 
ing to yet other roofs and walls and arches — he 
may get some faint idea of the city's quaintness. 
And if this journey is made at the close of day, 
in time to see the shadows gather, as the sun 
drops behind the mountains, touching their tops 
11 



with a golden mist, that scene will go with him 
in all after journeyings. Looking up at these 
peaks it seems as if, from the tops of some of 
them, one might almost behold the kingdoms of 
the earth spread out below ; but the highest ones 
cnly reveal more mountain peaks, until it looks 
as if all the world had resolved itself into massive 
brown hills and intervening little valleys. 

All the streets present a solid walled front, and 
it is only through an open door that one may even 
guess what is behind them. Sometimes the 
open door-way discloses only a hole in the wall, 
or an array of filth, and a lot of domestic animals 
—chickens, pigs, turkeys and dogs — all living in 
the same room with the family in great content ; 
but more often, in Guanajuato at least, the doors 
reveal neat homes, and sometimes old patios 
beautiful with flowers and plants and singing 
birds. Indeed, in many of these homes, even of 
the very poor, we found exquisite cleanliness, the 
old stone floors scrul)bed to shining, and every- 
thing in order with true Mexican rigidity. 

Tucked away in the little streets and corners 
are the stands of all sorts of vendors — fruits, 
vegetables, zarapes, pottery, baskets, with junk 
shops and the "Thieves' Market" all so mingled 
together that it is not easy to tell where one be- 
gins or the other leaves off. On Sundays, their 
great market day, the place is filled with busy 
people, and all the life and color which go with 
a market day in Mexico, except that here, because 
of such limited space, the vendors spread out into 
the streets in every direction, like the tendrils of 
a vine — their wares displayed on the cobble-stone 
pavement — and every little by-way also becomes 
aflame with color. 

Our hotel faced on what seemed to be an alley, 
but was really one of the widest streets. It 
promised at the corner of the block some eighteen 




Photo by Cox 



A NARROW WINDING STREET 



feet in width, but narrower! down to nine, widened 
again to about sixteen, and compassed at least 
three distinct juts and bulges before it finally 
went quavering to the entrance a hundred feet 
away. The hotel itself has many architectural 
puzzles and wonders, and where the rooms are 
stored away, and how to find them, are problems 
which each guest must solve for himself. It was 
several days before I could understand how, hav- 
ing climbed but one flight of stone steps, my own 
little balcony overlooked an almost dizzy height 
above the street. But having learned the way in, 
and practiced a little on getting out, the traveler 
is well content with its many comforts, especially 
when one realizes that in passing in or out the 
way is under an old arch with an ancient inscrip- 
tion showing that the building was blessed and 
dedicated for use in 1557. 

It was in the inner courts and patio of this good 
resting place that we discovered the first signs of 
the awakening of Guanajuato. Here was a con- 
tinual hum of English-speaking voices, and the 
beginning and end of all conversation was of 
mines and mining. The very atmosphere was 
surcharged with gold and silver, and whether in 
the office, or dining-room, or patio, one heard of 
dividends, reports, assays, reduction processes, 
percentages, and the like. English-speaking peo- 
ple hurried in and hurried out, saddled horses 
clattered up to the old arched entrance, with men 
from the mines, and clattered away again, taking 
men out to the mines. Every now and then the 
little tram-car brought more people up from Alar- 
fil, and deposited them down in the little street 
below; the hum of English increased, and more 
people flitted in and flitted out in a very busy 
manner. 

It was plainly no place for an idler, and I 
wandered out lo mix with the more easy-going 




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natives and renew my memories. On a former 
visit there promised a pretty romance, from one 
of the old balconies facing on the zocalo, and I 
tip-toed over there to see whether it might not 
still be going on ; but no romance was there, nor 
could searching find out how it had fared. From 
one opening on the balcony a typewriter clicked 
continuously, and from another a phonograph 
sent out its hideous noises. On the further corner 
of the little park I encountered a whirlwind of 
American voices and activity, and a spirited air 
pervaded everything. . Even the blind beggars 
had acquired a quicker walk and a more insistent, 
business-like manner. 

Across the street, on the steps of the Teatro 
Juarez, were a lot of natives, seemingly the same 
ones who sat there years ago — their rain-bow 
hued zarapes, blue rebosos and big sombreros 
making a bright picture, and mingling a touch of 
the old world with the newness of this splendidly 
modern building. This theatre is one of the most 
beautiful in the world, and there are those who 
say it is the most beautiful. Although ground 
room in Guanajuato is so precious, this building 
5-tands on a lot by itself, one of the most valuable 
in the city, facing on the plaza, and its handsome 
entrance and massive stone steps are the first ob- 
jects to attract the eye of the stranger. Its rows 
of columns across the front are Corinthian, but 
those in the interior are Aztec, while the decora- 
tions are Moorish. The draperies are soft and 
rich, and everything about the structure, inside 
and out, has an air and a grace which we Ameri- 
cans might do well to envy and imitate. The 
theatre was completed and stood unused for five 
years, waiting for President Diaz to open it. 
This was accomplished a few years ago, and the 
President bound himself by one more tie to the 
loyal people of this old camp. 

16 




A PICTURESQUE WATER CARRIER 



Photo by Ravell 



The streets used to be lighted with oil lanterns, 
as they should be; but now electric lights glitter 
everywhere, and have put out half the charm 
and shadowy mystery of the old cavern-like thor- 
oughfares. In the lantern-lighted nights there 
was a great fascination in poking about the wind- 
ing little ways under the guidance of an gen- 
darme, cr the protection of a friend con una pis- 
tola. The old lanterns still hang across the street, 
somewhat sullenly asserting their erstwhile use- 
fulness, and defying the municipality to do with- 
out them, as their trustworthiness sometimes com- 
pensates for lack of brilliancy. 

Here and there were traces of the great flood 
of 1905 — especially down the ravine leading to 
Marfil, and one realizes a little what devastation 
was wrought in one short hour, for that was the 
duration of the flood, from the time the waters 
began to rise in the streets until they had reached 
a depth of fourteen feet in places and entirely 
subsided, carrying away scores of homes, killing 
some five hundred people, and sweeping away 
hundreds of burros, mules, and all sorts of do- 
mestic animals, like so many wisps of straw. The 
flood was caused by a water-spout, and before the 
people could realize what was happening, each 
little street and path had become a mountain tor- 
rent, pouring into the center of the city, and chok- 
ing up the only outlet, the street of the tram-cars 
leading to Marfil. 

By the time it was over, night had come, and 
nothing could be done except for those who still 
had homes to give food and shelter to those who 
had none ; and the city went to bed, dazed, water- 
soaked and dreary ; but before it had hardly wak- 
ened the next morning to know what it had suf- 
fered, some of the mine operators had marched 
their men in from the mines, and the work of 
helping the city to find itself was begun. Every- 




TWO OF GUANAJUATO'S WATER CARRIERS 

Photo by Cox 



thing- recent in Guanajuato dates from this great 
flood, and everywhere are marks showing how 
high the water rose. Even in the Httle church 
by the plaza, high up on one of the pillars by the 
altar, there is this inscription : "Inundacion, Julio, 
1905". It was to this church we went to renew 
our acquaintance with friends of other days — 
particularly with a life-sized statue of St. Peter, 
and another of the cock v/hich crew when Peter 
had denied his Master thrice. These two statues 
stand on the same pedestal, as if in life they had 
been the closest friends, and we were glad to find 
that the Inundacion had not washed away or in 
anywise harmed these two delightful bits of 
realism. 

There have been other floods in Guanajuato — 
indeed her history is well sjirinkled with them — 
and one in 1760 wrought great ruin and destroyed 
many lives, but none have ever equalled in any 
way that of 1905. A tunnel was begun^ sometime 
in the eighteenth century, for the purpose of car- 
rying off the waters which pour down into the 
city from the mountain passes in heavy rains ; 
but it was abandoned for one cause and another. 
It is now being completed at a cost of a million 
dollars, and Guanajuato will no more be a prey 
to floods. 

The city's water supply is furnished from two 
large reservoirs. One beyond the church of 
Valenciana, high up in the mountains, supplies 
the houses and fountains. This is strictly 
guarded, none of the hills about it are allowed 
to be used for pasture, and every precaution is 
taken to keep the water pure. The dam across 
this reservoir is a massive, artistic piece of 
masonry, the top forming a splendid road-way to 
the hills and country beyond. It was here that 
the fiesta of St. John's day used to be observed. 
On that day, the 24th of June, everybody in Mex- 
20 



ico is supposed to have a bath ; the bath-houses 
are decorated, many of them have music, and are 
opened at four o'clock in the morning, and it is 
a long day of cleanliness and rejoicing — at least 
it was designed to be such! Guanajuato cele- 
brated it by opening the flood-gates of this dam, 
and letting oil the water from this reservoir, or 
lake. In those days the gates were of wood, and 
prisoners condemned to death were appointed to 
break them down. Of course it was a most 
dangerous undertaking, and very few escaped 
with their lives, but those who did obtained their 
liberty. 

And so it came about that the place was called 
'"La Presa de Esperanza" — the dam of hope. It 
v/as a slender hope at best which was held out to 
condemned men; but life was dear, even to them, 
and they battled madly with the waters for life 
and liberty. The natives came from miles away 
for this fiesta, and great crowds thronged the 
banks to witness the sport, which ranked with 
bull-fighting and other amusements of the kind — 
to all which the blood of both their Aztec and 
Spanish ancestors had given them a leaning and 
a liking. Rare sport indeed it must have been, 
and a gruesomely realistic way of commemorat- 
ing the birth-day of St. John the Baptist. 

The other reservoir is at the further end of the 
city^ and is made to beautify that section. "La 
I'resa" they call it, and it is a graceful combina- 
tion of curves, arches, stone steps, little lakes, 
high walls, terraces, flowers and fountains and 
little shadowy pathways. It is a delightful spot 
in which to while away the hours, and with the 
sun shifting through the leaves, and bird-songs 
overhead, one may watch the streams of color 
flowing down the forky mountain paths at six 
o'clock — the peons coming from their work in the 

21 



mines, and each one wearing- or carrying a bril- 
liant zarape and the ever picturesque sombrero. 

Hidalgo was a native of Guanajuato, and in 
ihe beautiful little park at La Presa is a splendid 
bronze statue of him — the George Washington 
of Mexico. He lived in San Filipe from 1792 
to 1798, and a tablet there tells the story of this 
JDcloved patriot, who was put to death in 
Chihuahua in 181 1, and his head brought to 
Guanajuato, and hung on a corner of the Alhon- 
diga de Graniditas, the hideous spike still re- 
maining on the historic old building-. If Hidalgo 
could have known how, in after years, he would 
be revered and honored, perhaps he would have 
counted it full compensation for losing his life; 
or perhaps he did not care if he did lose it in 
struggling to help the people he had all his life 
loved and tried to help. And if he can look back 
now it must l)e an infinite satisfaction to know 
how much he did accomplish for their good. 

The water-carriers of Guanajuato add much to 
tlie city's cjuaintness. Many of them are women 
and young girls, who carry the large earthen jars 
en their heads or shoulders in a most graceful, 
oriental fashion, and as they gather about some 
old fountain, make delightful pictures. At La 
Presa three of these bare-footed, picturesque car- 
riers used to come every evening to fill their jars, 
usually laughing as they came and went. I longed 
to perpetuate them with a camera, but they were 
just too late for the light, and all I caught was a 
cheerful "buenas tardes," and a smile — ^though in 
my memory I shall always have the picture of 
these three women and their gracefully poised 
jars silhouetted against the evening sky, as they 
.= ingle-filed across the old stone terrace. 

The Panteon is one of the most interesting of 
its kind in Mexico. It stands well up on the 
mountain, and no one may pass through the 




OLD CHURCH BY THE PLAZA 

Photo by Cox 




Photo by Cox 



ALHONDIQA DE GRANIDITAS 



entrance except by permission of the guard. All 
around the interior, to the top of the wall, are 
little places allotted for interment. They are 
exactly like the pigeon-holes of a desk, but large 
enough for a casket. A certain sum is charged 
for perpetual right to one of these spaces, and 
if at the end of a specified time this sum is 
not paid, the casket is taken out, the contents 
put in a corridor below — to swell the half mile 
of human bones already there — and the space 
rented to some one else. It happens sometimes, 
in this casting out process, that the remains are 
found to be well preserved, in which case they 
are placed in another corridor, and made to 
stand along with others of their kind, gathered 
in this under-ground place without regard to 
affinities or former friendships or enmities. One 
old fellow looks as if he had died of laughing; 
others appear to appreciate the grim humor of 
the situation, while some of them will never cease 
to look their resentment. One's memories of 
■Guanajuato will be quite as pleasant without a 
visit to this gruesome collection, but if the idler 
is also a conscientious sightseer, a climb down 
this winding, narrow stairway will be necessary ; 
and the silent people down there are not cjuite so 
repulsive since they have been clothed with white 
surplices. 

The only wagons in the city are huge and high 
two-wheeled carts, drawn by six mules, hitched 
four abreast and two abreast, and they make a 
great clatter over the cobble-stone pavements. 
Of course these carts can only get through the 
widest streets, so the problem of carrying heavy 
loads of all sorts falls on the patient little burro — 
always the burden bearer and philosopher, and 
part and parcel of the industry and welfare of 
Mexico. There are a few fine equipages in the 
city, but the best way of getting about is on horse- 

24 




CALLE DEL CAMPANERO 



back; indeed the full joy of a stay in Guanajuato 
is made perfect by riding- over the mountains 
and through the Httle valleys on one of these 
sure-footed horses, many of whom still retain the 
pride and grace and fine features of their Arabian 
ancestors. 

The city's name is an old Indian one, aiid used 
to be spelled "Quashiquato", and "Quanashuato", 
and other ways, and finally evolved into Guana- 
juato, and is said to mean "Mountain of Frogs", 
and to derive its name from a frog-shaped stone 
found there, which the Indians worshipped. Be 
that as it may, the Spaniards began coming here 
in 1547, attracted by the reports of the rich mines, 
which had hitherto been worked by the Chichi- 
meca or Otomi Indians — branches of the Aztecs 
— and it was not long before this came to be the 
scene of some of the greatest mining activities the 
world had ever known. And there are those in 
Guanajuato who tell you that what that age was 
there, in magnificence and splendor, we of our 
time can form no idea, and that our modern bo- 
nanzas are mere nothings in comparison to the 
riches taken from those mines then. The rich 
and cultivated and the nobility came over from 
Spain, as did also the adventurers. And as the 
mines more and more poured out their wealth, 
the necessities and luxuries of the people in- 
creased, until it required the markets of the world 
to supply their wants. And so it came about 
that there were brought there the richest and 
finest silks from Japan, the rarest and most beau- 
tiful china which could be procured in any coun- 
try, Arabian horses, and even carved ivory furni- 
ture from India — indeed every luxury which 
could be thither transported eventually found its 
way into this camp of fabulous wealth. At that 
time Spain derived the greater part of her wealth 
from Mexico, and especially from Guanajuato, 



one mine alone paying $17,000,000 in royalties to 
the Crown of Spain. 

The work in all these mines was done by the 
peons^ who received six cents a day, when they 
were paid anything-. It was not for them that 
the mines poured out their gold and silver. But 
these poor people were very religious — 
perhaps it was more comfortable for a 
person if he was very religious in those days, 
for he was then under the dominion of 
Spain — and when they were not earning the 
fabulous sum of six cents a day in the mines, they 
could build churches without pay, and give thanks 
for the privilege ! The church of Valenciana was 
built in this way. It is near the Valenciana mine, 
away up on the mountain, and commands a 
superb view of the city. If built in the ordinary 
way this church would probably not have cost 
more than $150,000, with perhaps $250,000 more 
for its gold and silver candlesticks and gold-leaf 
ornamentations ; but in that golden age they were 
not careful of the cost in building a church, and 
for this one they sent to Spain and procured the 
costliest and rarest wines with which to mix the 
mortar — 'thus bringing the cost up to more than 
a million of dollars. The Count of Valenciana 
would have his people worship well ! The ex- 
cavations for this church were carried out in pur- 
ple and scarlet silk bagS; blessed and consecrated 
for that special purpose. The church of Valen- 
ciana was built bv the operatives of the one mine, 
which has produced some three hundred millions 
of dollars. It has been worked down twenty- 
two hundred feet, and has fifty-eight miles of 
underground workings, and at present contains 
about one million cubic meters of water. 

In that glorious golden dream Guanajuato 
lived for years, and every year the dream became 
more beautiful, more vivid and more real. Here 

27 



was really inexhaustible wealth, limitless possi- 
bilities ! With these great hills filled almost to 
bursting with gold and silver, what mind could 
compass the future of Guanajuato? The moun- 
tains were alive with peons and burros, carrying 
the ores, hurrying with all the speed possible to 
a Mexican and a burro; but do their best, they 
could not get the ores out fast enough ; men and 
burros w^ould be exhausted before the bottom of 
the mines could be reached. It was good just to 
be alive in those days — at least for those who 
owned the mines — to find one's treasure piling 
higher each day, to know that the future held 
only gold and untold luxuries — no want nor wish 
that could not be gratified, if only the markets of 
the world held out ! How more than golden was 
the dream ! 

But finally a distant rumble was heard. This 
mine had not produced quite so much of late; 
that one had come upon a poor vein ; another had 
had some misfortunes, and yet others were filling 
with water. Things were not going well ; and at 
last the precious ores seemed to give out. The 
mines had been worked as deep and as well as 
they could be, with the primitive methods of those 
da3'S, and there came a time when they could go 
no further. On by one the mines ceased to be 
worked at all, and the rich people — those who^ had 
not spent all their wealth as fast as they got it — 
invested their money in the fertile lands between 
Leon and Queretaro ; those who could get away 
moved to other places; and Guanajuato went to 
sleep ! Seemingly hers was a dreamless sleep, 
Vv'hich should know no waking. If she dreamed, 
it was a nightmare ; if she waked it was to poverty 
and dreariness. The hills which had been so 
packed with riches were now great masses of 
profitless, ungiving rock, which would not raise 

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com, and without corn the people could not live. 
How more than wretched was the prospect ! 

A few years ago new mines were discovered 
hereabouts, and Americans and other foreigners 
began coming in. They brought with them not 
only capital, but new methods of working the old 
mines, new and modern machinery, and new ways 
of economising, so that even what was considered 
waste material in old dumps was made valuable. 
Investors now and then paid what seemed enor- 
mous prices for apparently exhausted mines — and 
which were exhausted so far as Mexican ways of 
working them were concerned. The cyanide pro- 
cess of reducing the ores was brought here, and 
the patio process almost done away with, so that 
only one of those old patios is in operation in 
Guanajuato, and that will not long continue. 
This process, although most picturesque, can well 
be spared, because so costly in the lives of men 
and mules. 

At last, through a persevering American, elec- 
tric power was brought to Guanajuato from a 
hundred miles away ! And this same man of faith 
built a cyanide plant, and demonstrated its effi- 
ciency, and all in so short a time that those who 
doubted and jeered were amazed, and a new era 
was launched for the old mining camp. Again 
the mountains are alive with peons and burros, 
hurrying the ores from the mines ; again the 
mountains are filled almost to bursting with gold 
and silver — so the dream runs — and again the 
treasure is piling higher day by day ! Here and 
there on the side of a hill, or down among the 
little mud houses may be found a big, busy mill, 
where hundreds of men work day and night, and 
the wheels turn unceasingly. 

And if the idler has a well tuned ear he may 

30 



discern, above the noise and rumble, a melodious 
rythm, as 

"All day long the stamp mill 

Rolls its thunder down the glen 
In toil to free the yellow gold 
That binds the souls of men." 

These new methods and economies have tre- 
mendously increased the profit on all the ores, 
and now it is estimated that the yearly production 
amounts to something more than twelve million 
dollars, with profits to exceed five millions of 
dollars, and ever increasing prospects and capac- 
ity — so that now the possibilities of this famous 
camp are once more bewildering and bewitching. 
Indeed it is said that the proposed improvements 
and new mines being developed, will bring the 
production up to about ^25,000,000 annually — of 
which the fortunate stockholders will receive 
something like $10,000,000 a year in dividends. 
Of course there hovers over the place an air 
of subdued excitement, an expectant waiting, 
and there is always present the charm of the 
speculative element, which here is peculiarly 
fascinating because of the rich discoveries which 
have been made and are likely to be made, all 
through these ore-packed mountains. 

And thus it is through the finding of new 
mines, and the discovery and introduction of new 
processes, and American capital and machinery 
being put into old mines which were supposed to 
be exhausted, and American energy behind it all, 
that Guanajuato is renewing her golden dream — 
or perhaps waking up, as my American friend 
said — but fortunately she cannot all wake up, at 
least not all at a time ; and there are yet, and al- 
ways will be, many sleepy, picturesque places in 
the old city, where the idler may dream almost 
any dream he chooses. If it is of gold, and he 



will take a pick and a divining rod, and go out 
into the hills, that dream may come to pass sur- 
prisingly soon. If his dream is of old china, rare 
antiques and zarapes, and he will wander out into 
queer places, and idle away a few hours with the 
natives, he may find such exquisite treasures as 
to make him dread the waking, lest his dream 
should not prove true. Or does he dream that 
brighter days are in store even for these much 
despised peons? That foreigners coming into 
Mexico will teach them a better way of living — 
without necessarily changing their religion or 
their picturesque costumes — and that they will 
eventually learn to keep clean, and make their 
land and their labor bring them a better material 
welfare? It is said that a higher civilization is 
beginning to press in upon these quiet brown peo- 
ple, all over Mexico, and this dream also may 
come to pass. And if the idler will lift his eyes 
above the little streets, above the terraces of 
flat roofs, and walls and arches, above the mines, 
and church towers, he may see — or dream that 
he sees — the Millenium coming over those cactus- 
crowned hill-tops, almost any day. But whatever 
the idler may dream, Guanajuato dreams again 
of ofold ! 



3S 



DEC 



siieos 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 829 858 2 



